


See, Hear, Speak

by Smudge93



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-09
Updated: 2013-11-11
Packaged: 2018-01-01 00:08:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1038005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smudge93/pseuds/Smudge93
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What would you take from someone that you hold a grudge against? Dean is about to find out! Thrown into a world of absolute isolation can Sam save him before his time runs out?</p><p>Set in early season 2</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Silence and Darkness

Sam sighed as he thought how easily trouble found his brother, he was going to add the thought of these days, but these days weren’t any different from the previous ones. It was almost as if Dean went looking for it, had some extra sense that sent him on a collision course with harm. 

Ever since Dad died however it had gotten worse, Dean was a little closer to the edge, a little more willing to risk himself to get the job done, and that was a bad thing, a really bad thing because Dean already took enough risks as it was. It was as if Dean wanted to find something that would hurt him, use the physical pain to ease the pain that he couldn’t control and could do nothing about; ease the guilt that was slowly eating him, destroying him.   
So, Sam could only watch as his brother rested his finger on his own self-destruct button, waiting to pick up the pieces and put them back together if, or more likely, when he pushed it…..that’s if there would be any pieces left.

Take last night in the bar for instance, all these beautiful woman that were just begging for Dean to take them home and he’d left with the one the Sam had asked him not to, probably because I asked him not to, Sam thought wryly. There had been something about her, something that was off, maybe that’s what drew Dean to her in the first place. Dean had thought he’d known her, something familiar about her that he just couldn’t place. Sam on the other hand had taken an instant dislike to her, she just felt like trouble, he couldn’t put his finger on why, she just had. 

Dean had left with her anyway. 

Now it was two o’clock the next day and Dean had yet to answer his cell phone, a single text message from his brother’s phone leading him here to this old abandoned house that Sam was now standing outside of, gun out, ready to go find out what the hell had happened to his brother now.

 

spn

 

Dean’s night hadn’t gone quite as he had expected or planned but then that was nothing new. He had wanted a night to get drunk with his brother but then she had come up and spoke to him and he couldn’t resist the lure of going somewhere quite and enjoying a few moments of total release, to get the chance to sink down into that warm pit of total oblivion. He'd hoped to escape his sad excuse for a life for a little while in the arms of a beautiful and willing companion. 

The bitch he had left with though had had other ideas. She had slipped something in his beer, and now, he had no idea were he was or how he had gotten there, but he knew one thing for sure, he was in trouble. Waking up chained to an attic floor was his first clue; the second was his pick up from hell carving lumps out of his chest with a bowie knife and reciting over him in Latin. He hissed as she poured a rather vile looking liquid into the cuts. 

Should have listened to Sam his little inner voice screamed at him. Yeah tell me something I don’t know, please be looking for me little bro.

He had to sit and watch as she had ripped two off his toenails off and it had hurt so much that he couldn’t even catch his breath to scream. 

He closed his eyes as he watched her approach again, knife in hand. The knife however he’d found always made him scream. She cut into his chest causing that very scream to rip from his lungs and she smiled as she leant over him.

“Friggin’ bitch.” He wanted to curl up in a ball, the liquid and the cuts causing his insides to spasm, he fought to keep the panic down inside, he knew that this was going to get bad, real bad he just wondered how much more he could actually take before he’d have to beg her to stop it ……….or end it.

She was smiling at him again, her voice cutting through the haze of pain. 

“Did you enjoy that scream, the ability to let out all that pain and agony that I’m putting you through? I hope so ‘cause it’ll be the last time that you get the chance to do that, to vent all that nasty hurt!”

She spoke some words over the ritual cup and forced his mouth opened, pouring the dark liquid into him until he gagged on it. 

“Speak.” 

She whispered the word in his ear. He felt the liquid trickle slowly down his throat despite his best efforts not to swallow it. It seemed to congeal in his throat, he could still breathe, but he realised that he could no longer talk, no longer make any type of noise.

He felt his hold on the panic slipping.

She paused for effect and then lifted the cup to eye level. He knew now what was coming and sheer terror washed through him, drowning him and he wanted to scream at her not to do this to him, plead with her - but she had already robbed him of that ability. Now she was going to rob him of another. He tried to move his head away from where the cup hovered above him. 

“See.” 

The liquid touched his eyes and he felt the tears forming as the already poor light in the room dipped and then went out. Dean could feel the panic really grip him now, almost hyperventilating. He struggled with his bonds but all he succeeded in doing was slicing the metal cuffs into his skin. 

She smiled as she watched him struggle blindly then she touched his head, making him jump, laughed as he tried again to wriggle away from her.

“Poor Dean, can’t speak, can’t talk. Do you know what’s next?” She rubbed his ears gently in her hands and he felt the bile rise in his throat. God no, please don’t do this, what did I do to deserve this?

It was like she had read his mind as she spoke next. “You don’t remember me do you?” He shook his head. “Such a pity ‘cos now you’ll never know why I’m doing this.” She ran her hands down his chest, down into his jeans, down between his legs, gripping him hard. He opened his mouth in a silent scream as she dug her nails through his flesh.

"You don’t remember any of them at all. Only your own gratification.” Her lips were on his face. “A flash of those green eyes,”……..her hand stroked his neck………… “some silken words,”…………her tongue in his ear…….. “take what you want and then you’re gone.” 

She laughed and turned his head. “You get what you want and then you don’t care. Well I’ll make sure that you don’t do that again Dean, I’ll make damn sure. Can’t speak, can’t see, can’t……..”

If he had been able to he would have begged her to not to do this, pleaded with her, as it was though all he could do was lie there and let her make his descent into absolute isolation complete. 

“…..hear.”

She started singing softly to him, a song he recognised but couldn’t place, flinching as she poured the last of the liquid equally into each of his ears. He drifted on her voice until it began to fade, until he could no longer hear her and his world turned to one of silence and darkness.

She smiled as he jumped as she touched his chest again with the knife, one final cut, one final recital needed to seal the spell.

She loosened his bonds and watched as he slowly curled himself up into a ball, crying silently at the pain any movement caused him, pushing himself away from her with his feet, completely broken by both the ritual and its effects.

He backed up until he was against the wall and then she walked forward to him, knife again in hand. He bucked as she pinned him to the wall and then she slowly slid the knife into him, cutting a shallow cut under his ribs. She touched his head and chanted a Latin verse, waiting until she felt him slip into unconsciousness.

“Goodbye Dean Winchester, have a nice life.” She picked up his phone, sent the text message, and then threw it down at his feet. “Don’t worry little brother will soon be on his way. Wouldn’t want you to die and waste all my hard work.” 

With that, she turned and walked away.


	2. Chapter 2

_Sam_

The house was cold and quiet.

Sam listened for any signs of life but the only noise was just the usual creaks and groans of an old house and the occasional whistle of the wind through the ill-fitting windows.

He had no idea why his brother would be here.

He tried Dean’s phone again and was rewarded by the sound of music from above his head. Dean, or at least Dean’s phone, was in the attic. He searched through the house until he found the way up. Sam slowly opened the door to the attic and climbed the stairs. He had his gun and torch in hand as he stepped through the gloom of the poor light from the old house’s boarded up attic window. He stopped every now and again to check for movement.

Sam reached the top and stepped backwards against the wall, letting his eyes adjust to the gloom around the beam of torch light and then he stepped into the attic. He could smell the perfume from the candles, almost still see the smoke from them, knew that they had only recently been blown out. He walked further into the room, noticing the markings drawn on the floor, the little cup that lay knocked over on its side. He picked up what looked like a rag and froze.

It was a t-shirt, Dean’s t-shirt.

His brother had been here. Softly Sam called Dean’s name, listening for any sound, any sign that his brother was still here, that she hadn’t moved him on somewhere else. He stepped into the middle of the ritual circle and tried to decide what the markings actually meant. He noted the d-rings in the floor and the cuffs that now lay empty beside them; it was then that he noticed the small dark stain on the floor. Stealing himself he bent and touched his fingers into the liquid and then raised them to the light of his torch that he now held in his mouth.

The liquid was unmistakable.

It was blood and it was fresh.

He risked another cry of his brother’s name, little edges of panic sneaking through him.

The silence was his only reply.

He had stepped further into the room to check around it when he heard it. A soft shuffling noise from the corner of the room, something was either trying to move towards him or away. He wasn’t sure which. He raised his gun to chest height and slowly stepped forward knowing that he was an open target with the torch shining before him but not wanting to approach whatever was in the corner blind. As the torch light pushed away the shadow he saw the feet first, the blood dripping down from the toes of one where the nails had been ripped off.

Slowly he walked closer, denim clad legs came into view and the bare skin of the torso. Sam’s breath hitched as he saw the symbols carved in the chest of the person that was sitting propped up in the corner. He knew it was Dean but he couldn’t bring himself to hurry over and kneel beside him, everything about his bother’s demeanour screamed to him that he was dead. Sam felt fear grip his heart.

The culprit for the shuffling noise came into view, a rat……..a fat black rat that sat nearby his brother’s side, its eyes glistening, attracted by the smell of the blood. Dean just lay there unmoving. Sam shot the rat, exploding bits of it over his brother, hoping for some reaction. Dean lay still as death despite the noise even though Sam’s own ears were ringing with the sound in such a tight space. Slowly Sam walked towards the still figure; he kicked the bigger bits of the remains of the rat from Dean’s side and knelt down. Taking a deep breath, he gently touched his fingers to his brother’s neck, moving them until he found what he was looking for. A slow, faint, but steady pulse.

He breathed out.

Taking the torch, he scanned it over his brother’s body for a better look at the damage and he didn’t like what he saw. He noted the teeth marks on Dean’s side but he was troubled mostly by how deep some of the carvings on Dean’s chest were, the skin had almost been hacked out in some places.

Sam put his hand to his brother’s stomach and checked the bloody gap under his ribs, noting that the cut wasn’t deep just designed to hurt and make Dean bleed on the floor, attracting the rat to him.

He tried to lift Dean up but he struggled badly with the dead weight, knew that he wouldn’t be able to carry his brother down all the stairs from the attic. He would have to try and wake him, hope that he could at least stand and help Sam get him out of here. He tried to gently rouse Dean, calling his name and splashing water from his flask on him.

He was finally rewarded with Dean surfacing, his eyes flickered, and Sam instantly realised that something was wrong. Instead of his brother’s strong green eyes staring at him, Dean’s eyes were covered in an opaque film, and it was obvious that he couldn’t see.

Sam touched his hands to Dean’s face and that’s when all hell broke loose. Panic seized Dean, sheer blind unadulterated panic. He pushed at Sam trying to get him off him, struggling with his brother’s grip on him. Sam tried to calm him, talk to him and gripped his wrists tighter but that just seemed to make things worse. Finally, Sam gripped both of Dean’s hands to stop him batting at him and pulled his brother close to him, hugging him, trying to stop him hurting himself further.

Dean finally stopped struggling; pushed Sam back and gently raised his hands to Sam’s face, exploring it, tracing the outline of his features, checking who it was. He caught Sam by surprise as he collapsed forward, hugging him to him so tightly Sam could hardly breathe and then Dean started to sob silently. Sam held onto him until the tears where spent and then tried to speak to him again, find out what happened.

Dean made no sign that he had heard him.

Sam knew that Dean was blind and he was fairly sure now that his brother was deaf too.

Sam carefully pulled Dean to his feet and mindful of his brother’s injuries started to lead him out of the attic and down the stairs. The progress was painfully slow, Sam watching his brother as he clung to him as if his life depended on it, leaning heavily on him for support.

Worry filled Sam, his brother was in agony, it was written all over his face yet he hadn’t made a single noise since Sam had found him, no gasp of surprise, no groan of pain.

Sam tried to push away the nagging doubt that perhaps his brother had been struck dumb too.

Slowly he got Dean out of the house and into the car. Sam watched as the familiar feel of the car caused Dean to relax just a little. He got an old blanket from the boot and gently covered Dean with it. Then he climbed in and headed for the motel.

 

_Dean_

He felt the hands on him and tried to bat them away knowing that at the moment he couldn’t take anymore, she’d broke him, he’d admit that. The hands tightened their grip and he panicked, tried to fight them off,he couldn’t stop himself.

Then he realised.

The hands were different…rougher…stronger.

It’s not her.

Could it be…?

Dean raised his hands to the face of the person before him, tracing the outline of the face…the jaw…the nose. He felt a small bubble of relief float up through him as he finally touched the hair and knew who this was.

It was Sam.

Somehow, thank god, his brother had found him.

He was safe.

His brother was here and that made everything better. He couldn’t stop himself from hugging Sam to him, taking in the feel of his brother’s arms round him and the smell of him. The grief raged through him but the only release he had was his tears despite the fact that he wanted nothing more than to throw his head back and scream his misery to the heavens.

He let his brother guide him to the car, relaxing a little at the familiar smell of the leather, the small reassurance of normality that the car always brought him. He couldn’t hear it but he felt the vibrations of the engine, felt the change as his brother picked up speed and took them away from that house, from her.

Dean wished he could remember who she was, where he had seen her before, but it was sitting there just out of reach for the moment. It didn’t matter anyway…even if he did remember how the hell was he supposed to let Sam know?

His mind drifted. What if I’m stuck like this forever? Trapped inside my own head with no way to get out, no escape from me or for me? How do I live like this? How do I protect my brother if I can’t even protect myself?

He feltl the wave of self pity crash into him and he tried to shut it and his mind down, concentrating only on the feel of the car, letting it do what it always did, soothe him, draw him down into sleep, his tortured mind and body finally welcoming unconsciousness.


End file.
